


A photograph

by TheClownsLaugh



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClownsLaugh/pseuds/TheClownsLaugh
Summary: The famous mafia henchman Crown is finally arrested by the policeman Amon Koutarou. To his surprise, a photograph falls from the killer's pocket as he puts him the handcuffs.





	A photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Work inspired by Souta's Notebook post on tumblr : https://soutasnotebook.tumblr.com/post/174504488489/
> 
> I don't know anything about mafia or police so it most likely won't be accurate at all, sorry. Just wrote it for fun ;)

Finally, Koutarou put the handcuffs on the killer. Finally the chase had ended, after all those years. The famed and feared Crown was now into his hands. Akira distanced herself a bit to make a phone call to their superiors while Koutarou would take care of the wounded man – but he knew that most of the blood on him wasn't even his own...

The man known as the Crown moved against his bonds and Koutarou saw something, a piece of paper, fall from his pocket. He quickly took it from the floor and looked at it.

He felt all the blood drain from his face.

How could it be? The bloodied man struggling against his grip, against the cuffs, with his hair more red than white... How did he came in possession of this photograph? Koutarou quickly hid it in his pocket. He would sort this out later. He was much too troubled to think clearly. He opened the door of the police car and made the man sit inside. His eyes met the man's. Cold and blue, under bushy eyebrows, standing out among all the blood on his face.

He did not say a word. He only had a smirk. He had been wearing it ever since they had been fighting. It hadn't flinched when bullets had pierced his limbs. A shiver went down Koutarou's spine. There was something oddly familiar about that man. But maybe that was just because he had been on his case for years now.

He was about to slam the door and to tell Akira to hurry up so they could go but the man spoke.

“Officer.”

His voice was hoarse and deep. Cold sweat formed on Koutarou's neck.

“What is it.”

“Might I ask for your name?”

“No.” He quickly slammed the door and turned away. His heart was racing.

It couldn't be it couldn't be it couldn't be

He shut his eyes for a second, to regain his composure and called for Akira. “Let's go,” he said.

She nodded and got into the car. She would be the one driving.

 

During all of the twenty minutes it took to go to the precinct, Koutarou had felt the cold eyes on his neck. When they got here, when everyone was surprised that he actually caught the famed Crown, Shinohara had discretely told him he looked pale. That was not a surprise for Koutarou, as he felt pale.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he said to Akira, not paying attention to all the eyes that still were on him.

He locked himself into a stall and tried to regulate his breathing. He took his wallet out of his inside pocket and opened it. Inside was an old picture of himself, age 11, and his father, his real father. They had taken the picture after Koutarou's first middle school day. He was wearing his uniform and his father a suit.

Soon after that, Koutarou had been taken away, put into another family and started his life over. He didn't remember much from that period, or his father, for that matter. He only had the photograph, that he had kept for twenty years.

For him, his father was this constantly still and constantly smiling proudly at him man. A little rough but with a certain grace and kindness in his blue eyes. Of course, he had been told his father was a bad person, which had ultimately led to Koutarou being adopted by the Amon family, but he still remembered his father fondly.

But now, he held into his hands the exact same picture, with some blood stains in one corner, a bit rumpled and seeming quite used. A photograph that had fallen from the man he had been researching for years for his crimes as a mafia henchman. And probably one of the most brutal and cruel of all the ones Koutarou had to deal with over the years. One that laughed when faced with death.

He compared the pictures. Except for the traces of usury, they were strictly identical.

Koutarou couldn't believe it. Or rather, he couldn't bear to acknowledge the evidence in front of him. He put back the pictures, got out of the stall and splashed his face with cold water. Then, he went back to Akira, that was still trying to interrogate the man.

She turned to him and said : “He said he'll only talk to you. Good luck.” She stood up and left the room, leaving a bloodied Crown handcuffed and a deeply troubled Koutarou sitting in front of him.

“So, officer, we all know why I'm here. Will you please tell me your name, now?”

“What if you told me yours, instead?”

“Really? You guys don't know it?”

“We know you're going by the name of Crown and that you've killed 127 people, including about 50 policemen.”

“Hm, if it's only that, I plead guilty, I guess. What do you guys even need?”

“Your name.”

“Yours first, son.”

Koutarou's hands started shaking. He clenched his fists to hide it. “Don't call me that.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Officer is fine.”

“Mhm... You shoot rather well, officer. It had been long since I've been hurt like this.”

He was still smiling, the blood on his face now dry.

“Half of these bullets are my partner's.”

“Can't you take a compliment?”

“Not from a murderer.”

The man erupted in laughter. It was unsettling, at the same time cold and genuinely amused. “That's rich, coming from a cop.”

“I've never killed anyone that didn't deserve it.”

“Oh and you think I did? Come on, son, when killing is involved, you should leave morals out of this. But let's stop talking about that, shall we? I want to ask you something.”

“If it's my name, then–”

“It's not. I want to know where you put the photograph I had on me and fell when you arrested me. I would like you to give it back.”

“That's not happening. Maybe I can tell you where it is, tho. If you tell me your name.”

“Oh please... we both know I won't tell you that.”

“Then,” said Koutarou while gathering all his strength to keep his voice from trembling, “why don't you tell me who is on that picture and why you care so much about it?”

“Hm... that I can do. You see, it's the last picture I ever took with my son before the government took him away from me.”

“So you have a son, huh?” Koutarou did his all to keep his emotions out of his face. “What would he think if he knew of his father's doing?”

“Oh,” said the man, “I would love to ask him, if I had any idea as for where he could possibly be.”

The bitterness in his voice was almost palpable. His smile was frozen in an angered expression that Koutarou couldn't really bear to see. He lowered his eyes to the man's hands and was reassured to see that the handcuffs were still in place.

“Alright, I guess I can tell you. It is right here.” Koutarou took the picture from his inside pocket and held it in front of him. He had deliberately chosen the wrong one, his own.

The man shook his head. “That's not my picture, stop playing now, I answered honestly.”

Koutarou nodded and showed him the right one, the one with the blood stains. The man hummed in agreement and then frowned. “Where did you get the other one?”

“Oh,” said Koutarou as he put both photographs back into his pocket, “that's just the last picture I took with my father.”

“Wha-”

“Thank you for your answers, Donato Porpora. Now if you would excuse me..”

He stood up and started to walk in direction of the door, followed by the wide open and cold as ice eyes of Donato Porpora, also known as the Crown, one of the most feared man in the city, now too stunned to speak.

As Koutarou was about to open the door, a voice called him from behind. Gentler than it previously was, still rough but somehow hollow, as if he was sleep-talking. “Koutarou?”

He stopped.

“Is that really you?”

He turned his head toward him and saw the single tear that went down Donato Porpora's – his father's – cheek, creating a pale track in the dry blood. Immediately after, he burst out laughing, once again.

“So you became a cop, huh? How fitting. To think you would be the one to arrest me... Good job, son. I'm proud of you.”

Koutarou exited the room in a hurry as he felt his ears turn red.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading~!
> 
> (English is not my first language so if you see any mistake please tell me so I can improve!)


End file.
